Portraits of Perfection
by MorganLeFay33
Summary: 1950s Housewife AU - Cora Crawley and Sarah Lang might just be able to brighten one another's lonely lives. Meanwhile, Elsie Carson makes an important decision and Rosamund Painswick learns a few new things about herself.
1. Chapter 1

_I've obviously gone back on my word, since I'm STILL writing. Someone sent me an irresistible request for a 1950s housewife AU, and I just had to. It was too tempting. I probably won't be updating it so quickly, but here's Chapter 1 at least!_

* * *

**Summer 1957**

* * *

Cora Crawley loved throwing dinner parties.

She loved the way the background music could drown out melancholy thoughts, and the way she could jump from one face to another as soon as she felt boredom seeping in. She especially loved the drinks, for they worked the greatest wonders. Sometimes the joy would even linger for an hour or two after the guests left, and if she went to bed straight away, she could even forget that Robert was sleeping in the twin bed in the room next door.

Cora sat down in front of the mirror and gently pulled the scarf off of her head. Once again, the hairdresser had done a superb job and Cora had managed to keep it pristine on the drive back. It was a shame to be so gussied up when she had no one to notice her. As Cora dabbed a bit of perfume behind her ear, her thoughts drifted once again to Sarah. She could see in the mirror the dress hanging in front of the closet. Sarah had really outdone herself this time, adding tiny feathers and gems to the ruby-colored satin in a surprisingly tasteful way. Sarah always knew precisely what to do. In the ten years that Cora had been her client, never once had Sarah made her anything short of exquisite.

She supposed Sybil would not be joining them tonight. Once again, she had gone out with that Branson boy who worked in the sweet shop. Cora painted her nails a deep red to match her dress, wondering why she herself had never been so taken with a young man. Sybil was absolutely obsessed, and how exhausting that must be for them both. In the rare moments when Cora opened herself up to honest reflection, she remembered that she had never wanted to marry Robert. She'd never wanted to have children either, even if she did love them dearly now. She'd wanted some sort of freedom, but it never came.

It had saddened her when Sarah canceled their appointment today. Cora understood, of course, but it was in moments like these that Cora was reminded of how much she cared for the younger dressmaker. She could have spent the afternoon in Sarah's cozy shop, feeling her deft hands buttoning and zipping her dresses, watching the entranced glow in Sarah's eyes as Cora modeled the different clothes for her. She never felt so beautiful as when she was standing in front of the mirror in that dress shop, with Sarah orbiting around her to make alterations and fuss over the smallest things. Instead, Cora had spent her morning and afternoon wandering aimlessly through the shops, buying new hats and jewelry for her daughters, as if they didn't already have enough. They hadn't thanked her.

She had once asked Robert if Sarah could join them for one of their parties, and he had sternly reminded her that it was not a good idea. Cora could feel her own expression falling into a disappointed frown, when her mother-in-law pragmatically remarked,

"How exactly do you see that playing out, my dear? Are we to ask Mrs. Lang for her honest opinion on the family company, on the state of the factories? Is she to request from Robert a performance review of her husband? Are we to talk of our visit to the Royal Ballet while she talks of her visit to the local pub? I think not."

Dinner tonight was wonderful, and Cora sent her regards to the cook. As of late, she had started to become more cognizant of the effort that people put in on her behalf. After she said her flourishing goodbyes to the guests, Cora retreated to her room, secretly hoarding a bottle of gin.

She leaned over the side of her vanity, shaking her hair loose and staring into her own watery eyes. One of her eyelashes had started to come unglued and was lopsided. She hiccupped and giggled at herself, pulling them both off. She stepped out of her heels and undid her dress, watching the crimson fabric cascading onto the floor like flowing blood. She turned away before she could see her nude body in the mirror, always afraid of the disappointment she felt in losing the softness and firmness of youth. She felt like she was barely hanging onto the last remnants of herself, and she feared that she would blow away like a withered leaf before anyone could save her.

She wandered over to her bed, crawling under the covers and pouring herself a teacup full of gin. This was how it worked. She would numb the pain, dull the longing, and she wouldn't wake until the afternoon of the next day. She would lie there watching television for hours while Robert was away at work. Her daughters didn't care. They were grown and nearly all married. The only things that would get her dressed and out of bed were those stupid society luncheons, or more tantalizingly, the daily prospect of visiting the dress shop.

Sometimes pleasurably horrendous thoughts came to her in the night - thoughts of touching warm curves, of kissing red lips, of staring into big blue-gray eyes. Cora secretly prayed for those dreams every night as she drifted off into sleep, because they made it seem real, even if fleetingly. If she drank enough, the mortifying memory of those episodes would fade before she could rise for her bath. She knew that she must still be carrying them somewhere within her throughout her days, even if she couldn't clearly recall their details.

* * *

Sarah Lang hated throwing dinner parties.

She scowled to herself as she peeled the potatoes over the sink, wiping her brow in frustration. She could have spent the day in the shop, greeted hourly by lovely women with the gentle twinkling of the bell. She could have shown Cora the dress she'd made yesterday - a midnight blue masterpiece of gathered chiffon. Sarah could have helped her into it, laughing quietly along as Cora almost tripped over the long hem, like nearly every day for the last decade. Instead, she'd spent her morning and afternoon cleaning the house, cooking, and baking.

Sarah was a woman possessed, working tirelessly round the clock to design a new gown for Cora nearly every day. Sometimes, she would become so distracted that she'd stay in the shop until dawn, and poor Andrew would have to sleep alone. It was all worth it in the end, just for the adoring glance Cora gave her, just to know that Cora liked the dress, just to lose her breath at the sight of Cora spinning around in a flurry of brightly colored fabric. Very little else could put a smile on Sarah's face these days.

Sarah pinned her hair into its usual twist, grimacing at her own wretched reflection in the bathroom mirror. She didn't mind that she had turned forty last year, but when had she become _this_? Her face was sunken in, her eyes dark and beady behind her cat eye glasses, and no amount of eye pencil or rouge could fix it. Andrew would be home any minute. She wished he were less kind to her, wished he had forced her into this dinner. He had done nothing of the sort, so she forced herself to pretend she was happy to do it. Considering all that she _hadn't _been able to give him, one dinner was the least she could do.

Mr. and Mrs. Carson were okay enough, not the best of people but not the worst. Even if they had been the worst, Sarah would still have made an effort to please them. Charles Carson was Andrew's boss, so she would put up with the Carsons' stuffy, rule-abiding, tradition-following, stale, boringness for one evening. The Bates' were a different story entirely. As far as Sarah was concerned, John Bates was Andrew's competition, and heaven knows that Sarah looked after her own. More than anything, she hated the way he was with his wife, Anna. They were so perfectly, contently in love. Sarah's blood boiled at their affectionate glances, at the way Mr. Bates had walked round the side of their car to open the door for his wife. Sarah had watched them surreptitiously through the window, feeling her heart freeze into a little ball of ice at the thought of the woman who had come before Anna, the one for whom she knew John Bates had never opened a single car door.

While they were eating the salad, Mrs. Carson asked her,

"Mrs. Lang, are you still working in that dress shop?"

"Yes," Sarah replied quietly.

"Good Lord, I am sorry," Mr. Carson said in surprise, "Considering your husband's promotion last year, you'd think that everything would be sorted. My Elsie hasn't had to work for years, isn't that right?" He gazed lovingly over to his wife, who returned a brief smile and took a sip of her wine.

"It _is _really nice to be at home now, what with all the children and all," Mrs. Bates volunteered in earnest. Mr. Bates nodded in agreement until they both realized and froze in embarrassment, but it was too late.

Sarah rose from the table quietly and marched into the kitchen, disgusted with the pair of them. It was with steady hands and a guilt-free mind that Sarah poured laxatives into their soup. She glowered at them over her dinner, relishing in the thought of what was to come. She didn't care if they came to suspect her for it. She looked forward to the thrill of battle, for it was all she had to keep her sane.

Like clockwork, the Bates' were forced to excuse themselves before dessert, and Sarah could barely contain her laugh as they pulled out of the driveway. While the men poured drinks after dinner, Mrs. Carson followed Sarah into the kitchen to help her with the dishes. She was always doing unnecessary things like that, helping people. Sarah had heard the stories of the Scottish woman's impressive volunteer work, and Sarah just wished she wouldn't do such things. It was angelic wives like Elsie Carson who made the rest of them look bad. In the midst of their light dishwashing conversation, Mrs. Carson suddenly said in a soft voice,

"Mrs. Lang, Sarah, may I offer you some advice?"

Sarah nodded wordlessly, wondering what in the world this woman had to say to her.

"If you like your job, keep doing it. Don't quit. Charlie, well, he loves me very much, and that's enough to keep me going. But I always wonder what would have happened if I'd kept up with my work."

"What did you do before?"

"I managed a cleaning business. It was hard work but oh, I loved it. You might think you can always return to your job in the dress shop, but it might not be so. It gets harder the longer you've been away."

Sarah smiled appreciatively, wishing she really did love sewing the way Mrs. Carson seemed to think she did. It was Cora Crawley she loved, not the sewing. If Cora found a new dressmaker, Sarah was sure she would quit within seconds.

The record player was still spinning after the Carsons had left. When Sarah came back in from her smoke, Andrew wandered over to change the song and motioned for Sarah to join him. They danced cheek-to-cheek, swaying in a sad two-step to the music. He smelled like whiskey and she was sure she must have smelled like cigarette smoke. Neither of them cared, moving in closer and closer until Andrew whispered in her ear,

"I'm sorry."

"You've got nothing to be sorry for," she replied with a sigh, letting herself sink into his warm arms like a limp corpse. There was a time when this would have excited her, when the feeling of his hands moving lower down toward her bottom would have sent shivers down her spine. She had clung to him like a clothespin when he'd returned from the war, trying and succeeding to help him overcome the pain that had plagued him. He was no longer that boy, and she was no longer that girl.

The night ended as usual, with Andrew's gentle caresses and her feigned enthusiasm. The only part of it she still loved was the weight of him on her right after he'd reached satisfaction, the feeling that she could be crushed to death any second in the heavy darkness and then they'd both be happy at the same time. He always rolled off of her too soon. They had long ago given up the tradition of saying, "Maybe this time, eh?" for they both knew by now that this little old house was not destined to echo the cries and giggles of babies.


	2. Chapter 2

_Two of these lines belong to Julian Fellowes (and all of these characters, of course!) :-)_

* * *

**Autumn 1957**

* * *

Cora flinched in pain and sat up quickly.

"Ouch!"

She swatted the air in front of her face, feeling disoriented and confused. Someone had snapped her sleeping mask onto her face to wake her. She pushed it up onto her forehead, finally realizing whom the culprit was.

Rosamund sat at the foot of her bed, a stern look upon her face.

"It is twelve-thirty. We were supposed to have lunch at noon. Just what do you think you're doing?"

Cora's throat felt dry and her head hurt. She swallowed and covered her eyes as Rosamund drew open her bedroom curtains.

"I'm so sorry, Rosamund. I…I forgot."

"Did you now?" She leaned over and pulled the empty bottle of wine out from under Cora's bed.

Cora couldn't look her in the eye. She stared at the wall, embarrassed beyond belief.

"Get dressed. Drink some water. We're going for a picnic today, and we're going to have a chat, you and I."

Cora nodded sleepily and hurried to dress herself as Rosamund scurried back downstairs.

She began to feel a bit better once they were on the road, and couldn't help but grin at the sight of Rosamund driving. She was made to drive a red convertible, Cora thought, with her wild curls tied back into a fashionable headscarf and her large sunglasses reflecting the sunlight. Cora's sister-in-law turned on the radio and leaned back, tapping her hand on the wheel while her clothing fluttered in the wind.

They didn't talk until they sat down to eat in a nearby park. Rosamund opened their basket and began to set out their meal.

"You have a drinking problem."

"I do not." Cora could not sound indignant, no matter how much she wanted to. She was resigned to surrendering.

"Yes, you do, and it must stop."

"How?" she asked meekly.

"Find something to replace the drinking."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Of course you do," she said plainly. "Robert replaced you with his secretary, so you replaced Robert with alcohol. Now it's time to replace the alcohol with something else."

"It's not that simple," Cora moaned, burying her face in her hands.

"Yes it is."

Cora reached for the plate of grapes and popped one into her mouth. "It's not about Robert. None of it's about Robert."

Rosamund seemed mildly surprised. "Then what _is _it about? Do tell."

"I don't…I don't know."

Rosamund rolled her eyes in exasperation and then said abruptly, "I think you should take a lover."

Cora nearly choked on her lunch, laughing incredulously. "A _what_?"

"Why not? Are you honestly telling me that there isn't anyone who you could see filling that role for you?"

Cora didn't know what to say. One face came to mind and she blushed at the thought of it.

"Ah!" Rosamund exclaimed in mischievous delight. "So there _is _someone!"

"No. There isn't."

"Stop lying to me," Rosamund snapped.

Cora fiddled with the grass on the ground, tying it into little knots. "It could never happen. It's impossible."

Rosamund laid her hand on Cora's shoulder and directed her piercing blue eyes straight into Cora's. "My dear, I won't believe you on that front until you tell me what it is that is so damn impossible."

Cora bit her lip nervously. "If I tell you, you must promise not to say a word to anyone. Please, Rosamund."

The redhead nodded in reply and leaned an eager ear in toward Cora.

* * *

Sarah stirred her coffee, waiting patiently for her companion to return from the ladies' room. The first time she'd done this, she'd only agreed to it for Andrew's sake. The second time, she didn't know why she'd agreed to it. The third time, she was suddenly aware that she actually enjoyed spending time with this woman. The fourth time, it was Sarah who had asked her to lunch. Sarah lost track after that. She hadn't had a real friend in ages, so this was something new. There was Thomas, the mailman, but he didn't count. He was more of a sidekick - someone to plot with and share the odd cigarette with before he went on his way.

Elsie Carson slid back into the booth, patting down her hair and putting a tube of lipstick back into her clutch bag.

"Right then," she said cheerily. "Did they come round for our order yet?"

"Yeah," Sarah replied, pouring more sugar into her cup. "I told them you wanted the turkey and cranberry sandwich, as usual."

"Thank you."

Sarah responded with a shrug, taking a sip of her coffee and wincing at how unpleasant it still tasted.

They sat there quietly for a moment, until Elsie broke the silence.

"You seem rather down today, dearie."

Sarah laughed bitterly. "How is today different from the rest of the days?"

"Oh, I don't know, really." Elsie straightened her silverware on the table, until it was arranged in neat little lines.

"How was the canned food drive on Sunday?" Sarah asked politely.

Elsie shook her head dismissively. "You know everything about me. We come here almost every week and you ask me about myself. We never talk about _you_."

"There's not much to talk about, I guess," Sarah answered, looking at the floor.

"Are you happy, Sarah?"

The question was unexpected, and the younger woman did not know what to say in this moment. Elsie was clearly worried about her, and concern glowed in her eyes like warm embers. It made Sarah want to cry for some strange reason.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Sarah lied.

"You are most certainly not," Elsie asserted. Sarah was taken aback by the Scottish woman's sudden determination. Her brogue had become thicker and it was clear that she would not back down until she got her answer.

The waitress brought their meals and Sarah stared out the window at an elderly man walking his dog – anything to avoid Elsie's gaze. The waitress left them alone again, but Sarah did not touch her food.

"I'm not," Sarah finally said in a quiet, low voice. "I'm not happy." She could feel her eyes beginning to tear up, and she blinked furiously.

"Oh Sarah," Elsie said kindly, reaching out to take the younger woman's hand in her own. "You must tell me what's wrong. We must fix this."

"I'm not your charity case," Sarah responded defensively. "This isn't like your volunteer work. You don't want to get involved with this, trust me."

"Now you stop that silly talk right now," Elsie scolded, squeezing her hand tighter. "What's the problem?"

Sarah looked straight at her and stated gruffly, "It's my life. That's the problem. It's shot to hell, and there's nothing you can do to fix it." Sarah felt like she was daring the older woman to continue this conversation, warning her that this would not be easy.

"Then you must tell me about your life. We've got to start _somewhere._" The corners of her eyes crinkled as she smiled welcomingly, and Sarah's bottom lip trembled in fear. For the first time ever, she might just cave in and tell the truth.

"I'm afraid…it will shock and disgust you."

"Shock and disgust? My, my. I think I have to hear it now," Elsie responded good-humoredly.

Sarah apprehensively began to tell her everything, from the day she'd married Andrew Lang to the day she'd fallen hopelessly in love with Cora Crawley.


	3. Chapter 3

**Winter 1957**

* * *

Rosamund waited until Mrs. Lang had left the room and then pounced. The dressmaker had received a phone call and excused herself for a few minutes. Rosamund gladly took advantage of the opportunity to pry.

She hurried over to the other side of Mrs. Lang's desk, rummaging through the papers hidden in the drawers. She rifled through bills, sketches, shopping lists, and receipts, finding nothing even remotely interesting. As soon as she was about to give up, she spotted a white envelope stuffed into the crevice between the desk and the wall. Rosamund looked around her carefully before drawing it out. She could tell that it had been opened several times before. A note fell out first.

_Dear Sarah,_

_This is round two. I hope that some of these seem promising. If not, don't fret. They say the third time's a charm. Chin up! Stay strong._

_xoxo,_

_Elsie_

Rosamund pulled out the rest of the papers, reading through them eagerly. They seemed to be descriptions of families, children, babies. A good number of them had a very large X marked over them in red pen, lines so neatly and determinedly drawn that it made Rosamund feel uncomfortable. She struggled to understand what this was, until she glanced at the photograph of the Langs on the desk and felt a brief pinch of pity for the poor woman. She jumped back into her chair as soon as she heard the voice outside say a muffled goodbye on the telephone, and she returned the envelope to its previous location. She threw her head back defiantly, trying to appear nonplussed. Her heart was still beating quickly.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Mrs. Painswick," the dressmaker said as she walked back into the room.

"It is no trouble at all." Rosamund flashed her the biggest smile she could muster. The key to succeeding at this was confidence, she was sure of it.

Their conversation was practical. Besides, Rosamund really _did _want a dress made for her - she just wanted a few other things too. When Mrs. Lang began to flip through her sketchbooks, Rosamund pointed to the one that said "Cora Crawley" on it and asked,

"What about that one? Can I look through that one as well?"

"No."

She had said it so quickly, a knee-jerk reaction.

"Why ever not?"

"Because those…are Mrs. Crawley's dresses."

"I'm sure my sister-in-law wouldn't mind if one of my dresses was modeled after her own. Goodness, she has so many after all…"

"No," Mrs. Lang said curtly. "I made them one-of-a-kind for Cor…Mrs. Crawley, and I won't show them until I have her permission."

Rosamund was fascinated and wanted to push her buttons further, but she abstained, leaning back into her chair and waving her hand indifferently.

"Fine then. What else do you have? May I look through that black pattern book, or is that against the rules as well? Will you slap my hand and send me to my room without supper if I dare open it?"

Mrs. Lang glowered at her and passed the second book forward, clearly not amused.

The dressmaker seemed grumpy as she took Rosamund's measurements, speaking as little as possible and never looking at her face. Rosamund couldn't understand what Cora saw in this woman. She had walked into the dress shop expecting some sort of fun, sultry, working-class temptress wearing too much makeup and tight clothing. This was far from what she had thought she would find. Rosamund supposed there might be some sort of beauty to this woman if she'd only wear something a bit more flattering and remove those repulsive glasses.

"I like your glasses."

"Thank you." Sarah lifted Rosamund's arm to wrap the measuring tape around it, acting as if she didn't really care whether anyone liked them or not.

"Do you wear them all the time?" She asked as pleasantly as she could.

"Nah, just for reading, sewing, cooking, that kind of thing."

"Ah," Rosamund answered, secretly thinking, _Thank God_.

Rosamund wanted to see how far she could go with this, and so in the midst of their light conversation, she remarked,

"Goodness, Cora looks so lovely in the things you make her. She drives every man mad at the sight of her, and she practically turns every woman into a _lesbian_!"

As Rosamund laughed at her own risqué joke, she saw a strange and indescribable expression cross Mrs. Lang's face. The dressmaker's cheeks turned slightly pink as she ducked down to measure Rosamund's hips. Her pincushion suddenly fell out of her apron and the pins bounced all across the floor.

"Everything all right?" Rosamund asked innocently as Mrs. Lang collected the stray pins.

"It's fine. Hold still. I'm nearly done."

On her way out of the shop, Rosamund noticed a man smoking in an alleyway nearby. She wrapped her scarf around her head and slid her sunglasses onto her face, sneaking around the corner to join him. She could tell by his uniform that he must be the mailman.

"Pssst!" she hissed.

He dropped his hand down to the side, leaning against the wall. "Can I help you?" He seemed slithery and conniving - just the kind of person Rosamund was looking for.

"Do you know the dressmakers here? Do you deliver their mail?"

He smirked and took another drag of his cigarette. "Who's inquiring?"

"Me. Do you or don't you?"

"I do," he answered slyly.

"May I ask you some questions?"

"Depends. What do I get in return?" He grinned predatorily, but Rosamund wasn't the least bit afraid of him.

"If you answer my questions without telling anyone that we've spoken, you'll get a handsome sum of money. If you don't keep quiet about it, you will wish you had never been born. How does that sound?"

He seemed mildly surprised at her gall and nodded his head. "Go on then."

"Do you know why Mrs. Lang has no children?"

He sighed and blew a bit of smoke out of his mouth. "She can't. Doctor confirmed it and everything. Otherwise she would. Anything'd be better than being stuck with that husband of hers for eternity."

"Why do you say that?"

He laughed derisively. "He's all right enough, just a bore. After an hour in the same room with him, you can start to see the paint peeling."

"And would she agree?"

He laughed again. "I don't know. I've got my suspicions, but she hasn't said anything outright. I personally think he's not her type, if you know what I mean…"

"No. I don't," Rosamund snapped impatiently.

He narrowed his eyes and said quietly, "My speculating won't help you any more here," and he held out his hand.

Rosamund gave him the wad of cash and whispered threateningly, "Again, tell no one we have spoken."

He didn't respond and counted the money. Rosamund slipped back around the corner, walking briskly and feeling a certain thrill that she had never before felt. She had never done something quite so backhanded as to confront a strange man in an alleyway, and oddly enough, she wanted to do it again.

* * *

Elsie graciously accepted the glass of eggnog from Mrs. Crawley, exclaiming,

"My my, what a beautiful frock that is!"

"Oh, isn't it?" Cora twirled around, hanging onto the skirt as the forest green satin rippled charmingly. "I have my dressmaker to thank for it. Perhaps you know her - Sarah Lang? Her husband manages one of Robert's factories. I presume he works under your husband?"

"I have met her, yes. She's lovely." Elsie didn't want to share too much, curious as to what else Cora had to say about Sarah.

"Very talented. Would you excuse me for one moment?" Mrs. Crawley had recognized someone and hurried off to talk to him.

The brevity of their conversation was not encouraging to Elsie, and her heart sank at the thought of her sweet darling, Sarah, pining over this flighty woman like she did. Elsie had grown to feel strangely protective of the younger woman, doing everything in her power to help her. Sarah had always reminded Elsie of an awkward adolescent boy trapped in a grown woman's body, trying and failing to be graceful in her interactions and often giving up the effort entirely. Sometimes Sarah was blunt and rude, sometimes downright mean, but Elsie knew where it came from, and she wasn't afraid of it.

This Christmas party was as uneventful as she had thought it would be. Charles made his rounds, proudly introducing her to everyone. It was worth it to see the way he puffed out his chest and stood up straight, looking at her fondly and pronouncing very loudly that she was his wife. She loved that old fool, no matter how strong his obsession with social decorum. They both knew this place was much too formal for them and that most of these people weren't actually interested in meeting either of them, but they did it all anyway.

Halfway through the night, Elsie spotted Cora Crawley at the bar across the room, shocked to see her downing an entire glass of wine like it was a shot glass. Elsie saw Mrs. Crawley sway as if about to fall and then catch herself on the side of a table just in time. The intoxicated woman readjusted the sprig of holly on her silk headband and started to walk forward, once again tripping over her own feet. Why was no one else watching this woman? How had someone so stunning suddenly managed to disappear from everyone's line of sight? It saddened her.

Elsie asked Charlie to excuse her for a few minutes and hurried over as quickly as she could.

"Is everything okay, Mrs. Crawley?"

The other woman lifted her sparkling blue eyes to Elsie's and sputtered, "Let's – let's go swimming!"

"What in God's name?"

"_Please_? There is a swimming pool here!" she begged like a child.

"Mrs. Crawley, Cora, I think perhaps you've had a bit too much to drink." Elsie was suddenly nervous, aware that she was addressing the wife of her husband's employer.

Cora swayed again, and Elsie caught her, realizing that Cora's idea wasn't half bad. "Yes, very well. Come on then."

She quietly exited the banquet room with Cora still clinging to her arm, following the hotel signs until they reached the indoor pool. Elsie sighed in relief at the empty room, pleased that no one else would see Cora in this state.

They took off their heels and dipped their sore feet into the warm, glowing water. Elsie held tightly onto Cora as the younger woman relaxed into Elsie's side and laid her head on her shoulder.

"Elsie Carson," she grumbled groggily, "You don't know what it's like."

"I don't know what what is like?"

"Being _me_," Cora groaned as she buried her face in Elsie's neck. "Rosamund _said_, she _said_ I have to stop this, but I can't because I just _can't_. Do you see?"

Her words were slurred and Elsie shook her head, without the slightest clue as to who Rosamund was. "I'm afraid I don't, dearie."

Cora gloved Elsie's hand with her own, picking it up and lazily tracing the lines of her palm. "Women, you, women are all so much more…more."

"More what?" Elsie asked, aware that anyone watching them might assume certain things that were not true.

"More loveable." Cora hiccupped. "My…my…Sarah. My Sarah, she. I'd want to…"

Elsie grew tense for a moment, surprised to hear Sarah's name come up.

Cora continued, "…kisses…yes, kisses….how nice they would be…." She yawned and continued sleepily, "But do you see now?"

"Are you staying here tonight?"

"Yes. 555." She smiled widely, her eyes still closed, and pulled a key out from the low neckline of her dress.

Elsie rose to take Cora to her room, thankful that they had a key. At this point, it only seemed right to put the woman to bed before she embarrassed herself more.

Cora made no objections. When they exited the lift on the fifth floor, Cora whispered sadly, "Nobody loves a drunk, not even a dressmaker."

Elsie was haunted by Cora's deeply troubled words, trying to shake them from her mind as she descended the hotel stairs. When she returned to the party, she kissed her husband primly on the cheek. She stole a secretive glance at Robert Crawley as he laughed heartily with a circle of men in the center of the room. Elsie had never felt such dislike in all her years, wondering whether he would even notice that his own wife had left the party.


	4. Chapter 4

**Spring 1958**

* * *

"Room 26, please."

The bored concierge handed her the key, and Sarah looked around shiftily, hoping she hadn't come here in error. This quaint little inn was the last place she would have considered for this.

She anxiously pulled her jumper more tightly over her chest, uncomfortable in the blouse Elsie had bought for her. It was much more form-fitting than anything else she'd ever worn, and she was unused to feeling so promiscuous. Nonetheless, the Scottish woman had surprised her by buying this outfit and taking her to get her hair done. "This is your moment!" she had urged. Sarah really was grateful to her for all she had done. She didn't really know how to repay her, but she wanted to somehow. Like Sarah, Elsie had her doubts about this letter, but they both agreed that she should give it her all in case it actually was real.

Sarah was also thankful to Elsie for warning her. Sarah would have never suspected that Cora struggled with drinking, and now, over the past months, Sarah had constantly fought the desire to say something. It was funny how she knew so much about the American woman, but still so little; she knew all of Cora's favorite films, what toys her daughters had played with as children, the names of all the pets she'd had, which cities she had traveled to, how she liked her eggs. Yet, all this time, Sarah had been blind to the terrible thing that most consumed the other woman's life. It scared her. She had begun to notice it now, in the dark circles under her eyes. Sarah wanted to help her, but it was inappropriate for someone of her station to meddle in the affairs of a woman like Cora Crawley.

When the letter had first arrived, Sarah snorted in laughter, thinking it must have been a cruel joke from the oblivious Thomas. After he'd denied it, it dawned on her that it could possibly be real. In her heart of hearts, she knew it was a forgery, and she felt like a masochist, walking in here today, setting herself up for another dose of pain. The language was much too flowery and the proclamation of love far too dramatic to be Cora's, even if it _was _in her handwriting. Perhaps Sarah should have been afraid that the sender might actually be a robber or a kidnapper or a murderer, but she wasn't the least bit intimidated. She took a deep breath before she unlocked the door to the room.

Cora sat at the small desk, staring straight at her as she entered. Sarah felt a tinge of excitement course through her at the sight. She was absolutely breathtaking as usual, surrounded by pale sunlight and tall vases of colorful flowers from the gardens. The older woman rose quickly from her seat and hurried over to Sarah, her eyes bright.

"Sarah?"

Sarah noticed a piece of paper in her hand and stopped abruptly.

"What's that?" she motioned to the paper.

"Your letter, of course!"

Her heart sank.

"You mean like this one you wrote to _me_?"

They exchanged the letters. They were exactly the same.

"But I never wrote a letter," Cora said in confusion.

"Neither did I."

"Oh no. Oh no, no, no." Cora immediately looked to the ground and shook her head, scurrying farther away from Sarah toward the window. "It was a prank."

"Yeah," Sarah said, tugging at her skirt and trying to seem calm, "I think we've been had."

"Rosamund," Cora mumbled almost inaudibly.

"Who?"

"My sister-in-law. I don't know…it does seem like something she might do."

Sarah laughed bitterly. "You mean that bloody woman who was sneaking around my shop, trying to pay my friends to give her my personal information? She's a right mischief-maker, that one."

Cora jumped a little at Sarah's sharp words. She seemed surprised and extremely uncomfortable, and she just continued to look at the ground. She turned and said austerely, "Yes, well, I hope we can put this behind us and pretend it never happened. I look forward to meeting with you tomorrow afternoon as planned."

Sarah could hear her own heart pounding in her ears. "Yeah, course we can. I'll just show myself out. I'll see you tomorrow." After the door had clicked behind her, Sarah crumpled against the wall, wanting to scream in frustration and mortification.

She headed back down the hall, but stopped halfway as soon as she had regained her ability to think. Both letters ended with the words, "_If you feel the same, meet me at the White Rose Inn on Thursday afternoon at…_" All of the sudden, it didn't matter that the letters had been fakes. She turned around and took off running for the room again.

She barged in to see Cora hunched over on the edge of the large bed, her whole body heaving with loud, erratic sobs. She sat up quickly, wiping her eyes and nose on the back of her hand, as if that could ever conceal the tears that were streaming down her face. She was even lovely when she cried, Sarah thought, like a Grecian marble fountain.

"Oh, God," Cora wailed as she tried to hide her face with her hands. "I'm so embarrassed," she struggled to say between ragged breaths. "You must think me such an idiot for ever thinking…"

Sarah had been right. Sweet, trusting Cora was not as astute, and she had wholeheartedly believed her own letter was real. Sarah knew it was too late to go back now; their mere presence in this room was itself a profession of love. Neither of them would be here if they didn't feel the same.

Sarah rushed to sit beside her on the bed, and held the weeping woman in her arms. They had never been this close before, and Sarah's head went spinning at the warmth emanating from Cora's body and the strong scent of lavender in her hair.

"I think no such thing," she assured her. "Cora, love, look at me, please."

She brushed Cora's tear-stained cheek with her hand and lifted her chin slightly until their eyes met. Sarah's gaze drifted from Cora's azure eyes down to her parted pink lips, and then back again. Cora nodded slightly, giving her permission.

Sarah leaned in and kissed her fully on the mouth, still in shock that any of this was actually happening. They paused for one moment to breathe, wonder in their eyes, and then came together once again in a fervent, passionate torrent of kisses. Sarah groaned as she felt Cora's hands running through her hair and down her back. Detecting the heartrendingly salty taste that remained from Cora's crying, she gripped the other woman's waist in an effort to pull her closer and make her forget every single tear that had fallen.

Sarah suddenly broke away, holding Cora's face in her hands. "I love you," she said determinedly.

She dropped endless kisses onto Cora's soft lips, both women murmuring, "I love you" between each one. There would be time to talk more about it all later. For now, they were completely lost in one another, driven by nothing but a deep yearning to express the feelings that had burned in stifled silence for so very long.

Sarah couldn't entirely comprehend how it happened, but she soon found herself lying beneath Cora between the sheets of the bed, their loose hair cascading around them on the pillow and their clothing lying forgotten on the carpet. She trembled uncontrollably and closed her eyes tightly as small cries escaped her lips, overcome by the sublime feeling of their warm bodies entwined. Never had she been so paralyzed by desire, so helpless in the presence of another person, so perfectly, contently in love.

* * *

Rosamund was rather proud of herself. She paced her drawing room, wondering what the two of them were doing in this moment.

All it had taken was a few months of snooping. She had endured a few more dress fittings, a few more encounters with that dodgy mailman, a few more awkward conversations with Cora, and voila! It was as clear as day that the dressmaker returned her sister-in-law's feelings.

Rosamund already knew Cora's weekly schedule, and with a bit of spying, she had quickly learned Sarah's as well. She had spent hours forging letters in each of their handwriting, having stolen bits of their real letters to use as guides. After mailing the letters, she had chosen the inn because she knew the innkeeper, and he owed her a favor. The room had been free, and the concierge gladly accepted a bit of monetary bribing to wordlessly offer a key to each of them, as she had instructed in each of their letters.

All that she could do now was wait – her least favorite part. She hated knowing that this was out of her hands and hoped to God that neither of them would be stupid enough to ruin all of her hard work.

She sank into an armchair and turned on the television. As she watched incessant commercials for dog food and vacuums, she asked herself why she had persisted so in this expertly-planned matchmaking adventure. It certainly was not because she loved her sister-in-law enough to devote all of her time and attention to her - _that_ she had no qualms about admitting to herself. She had done this for another reason, and it was all the more apparent now that her work was done. She had enjoyed herself. She liked the thrill of sneaking around, of prying into people's personal lives, of scheming and planning. Rosamund sighed to herself, changing the channel impatiently, looking for something to entertain her, but her mind was elsewhere.

Surely this was a kind of criminal behavior that she had exhibited, and if so, why should she ever like it as much as she did? Now that one story had been unraveled, she itched to jump into another one.

She turned off the television and decided to join the church ladies for their weekly game of Gin, even if she did find those women extremely dull. Anything would be better than staying in tonight, and she was desperate for some first-rate gossip.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summer 1958**

* * *

Sarah stared down at her bare feet dangling above the white linoleum floor, wringing her hands as she tried to calm herself. She closed her eyes and thought of Cora.

She thought of her charming kittenish smile, her entrancing blue eyes, her soft skin, her delicate curves, her long and lithe legs, the frilly lingerie she always wore, her light laughs and playful little growls, the scent of lavender she always seemed to carry with her. Sarah called up recent memories of languid afternoons spent together in the White Rose Inn, hurried morning trysts at home after their husbands had left for work, occasional overnights under the guise of more dressmaking to finish, and long drives for evening dinner dates in far-off towns. She shuddered, recalling the feeling of Cora's hands and lips on her body, and the beautiful sound of the enthusiastic moans that Sarah managed to coax from her nearly every day. More than anything, it was the closeness that she wanted to remember – the intimate whispers at dawn and the strength of Cora's loving gaze. Sarah never wanted it to end, and today could very well herald the end.

The past months had been both wonderful and difficult, but mostly wonderful. They had managed to get away with all this rather easily, for no one suspected a thing besides close friendship - a more public image which they embraced to make their meetings easier and more frequent. For the first time in her entire life, Sarah finally knew what it felt like to want someone with such intensity that she was consumed by it. She had never felt this way with anyone, and as terrifying as it was, she suddenly understood why the world seemed to be filled with nothing but love songs. This is what she had been missing.

Sarah wished she could have felt no guilt in the same way that Cora did, but Andrew had done nothing wrong. He was a perfect husband. It was odd how her affection grew toward him as well. If she came home late, she'd catch herself smiling at the sight of him curled up asleep, and then she would chastise herself. She had no right to him anymore, no matter how much she pretended. Elsie had no reservations, surprisingly. She was content, pointing out to Sarah that an affair was the only possible solution in this day and age, even if she did wish it were different. Rosamund was smug as all hell. Both Cora and Sarah had tried to avoid her as much as possible, even if they did owe her.

What had made this difficult were the withdrawals. Sarah had spent many a night cradling Cora in her arms while her lover shook violently, begging for relief. Sarah had held her down tightly, whispering encouraging words, wiping the sweat from her brow, and gripping her hand in the worst moments until both their knuckles were white. There was no question that Cora wanted to put an end to her drinking, but Sarah was surprised by the strength she suddenly saw in her lover. The withdrawals had lasted an entire week (disguised to Cora's family as the flu), but Cora had not had a single drink in months. Her willpower had suddenly expanded, and Sarah was so very proud of her.

She hated to think of what Cora might become if things were to change today. Sarah hadn't really thought any of this through, because the shock hadn't yet set in. She'd purposefully refrained from wondering about it.

Her stomach lurched as the door opened. Dr. Clarkson strode into the room, sporting a gigantic, awestruck grin.

"Congratulations, Mrs. Lang. You're pregnant."

* * *

Charles Carson sat polishing the silverware at the kitchen table as his wife prepared supper.

"You know, you don't have to do that, Charlie," she teased. "It's just the two of us."

"I know," he grinned wistfully. "I just cannot stand to be idle. You should know me by now."

She laughed and set down her spatula so she could run across the room to kiss him. He pulled her down into his lap and Elsie yelped in surprise.

"Oh my!"

Charles chuckled and began to make a feather-light trail of kisses down his wife's neck. Elsie wriggled around, determined not to let desire distract her today. She wanted to talk to him.

"Charlie," she said, gently pushing his lips away from her.

"Yes?"

"I want to open a safehouse. For women."

"A safehouse? For women who are abused?" He raised his eyebrows quizzically.

She shrugged. "Yes, but more than that. I want to create a place where women can come to discuss their problems, big or small, whether they are working-class women or countesses. We keep so much silent, Charles, and sometimes we really need a safe space to talk."

He frowned in worry. "Is there a problem that _you _are keeping silent about? I would hope that…"

"No! Oh, no," she interrupted him him assuredly, stroking his chin. "I'm right as rain. I'm thinking of others."

"As usual," he smiled dreamily. "Which types of problems then?"

She had been nervous to tell him this bit. "I want to help women who are lonely and depressed, women who are troubled because they can't have children, women who are addicted to drugs and alcohol, and women who are…lesbians."

"_Lesbians_?" he asked in surprise. "Why do they need a safe space? Elsie, these things seem to require much more than a safehouse. These are medical and spiritual issues."

"I know," she said resolutely. She and Charles had differing opinions on these issues, but they didn't need to go another round in it now. "I've discussed it with Dr. Clarkson, and he's contacted a whole list of doctors and therapists who are willing to make themselves available..."

"To do what exactly?"

"I don't know," Elsie sighed. "Whatever they can do to help, I suppose. If their advice seems to be leading nowhere, I'll tell you now that I wouldn't feel one bit bad about dismissing their services entirely."

"And how exactly do you plan to advertise such a thing? You cannot just run around yelling, 'Lesbians and drug addicts, join me!'"

She laughed, running her fingers through his gray hair. "I haven't figured that out yet, but I'm sure I'll find a way."

"I'm sure you will. Elsie, dear, it would be very difficult. It would be like a full-time job."

She took a deep breath. She had been waiting for this. "I know. Charlie, I love you, and I love that you have sacrificed so much for me to stay at home here, but this is just not me. I am not the kind of woman who enjoys sitting around while everyone else does everything for her." She quoted his own words to say, "You should know me by now."

He laughed and looked at her with utter adoration, replying, "I certainly do, and I know that nothing I say will stop you. Elsie, I wouldn't have married you if I wanted a wife who didn't have a mind of her own."

"So it's okay then?" She hadn't exactly received his blessing yet.

"It's okay with me. If you need any help, don't hesitate to put this old man to work."

She threw her arms around him, thanking him. She had no idea where to go from here, but her heart jumped in excitement at the enticing prospect of having substantial work to get done. She finally felt like she had a greater purpose again, no matter how small the scale.


	6. Chapter 6

**Autumn 1958**

* * *

"Look!" Rosamund hissed, tugging harshly on Cora's skirt.

"What?" she asked, exasperated.

Her eyes followed her sister-in-law's finger toward the front of the room to see four people walking into the movie theater - a tall man with auburn hair, another dark-haired man with a limp, a plain-looking blonde woman, and - oh God. There she was, with her hair flipped out neatly at the ends, wearing a charming polka-dot headband, laughing nonchalantly beside her husband, wedding ring gleaming in the dim light of the theater, and showing off a tiny baby bump beneath her well-tailored dress. Sarah Lang looked like the portrait of perfection.

As Cora watched Sarah's husband help her into her seat, Rosamund jabbed her in the side again.

"Ow! Do you always have to do that?"

"Yes. Do you want me to go over there and 'accidentally' spill my popcorn on her? Because I can most certainly do that."

"No."

"What about conveniently spilling some of my Coca Cola in her seat when she gets up to go to the toilet, because you know pregnant woman _always _have to do that anyway. I could also pay one of the employees here to accuse them of not paying, make them miss half the film 'checking' their tickets…"

"_No_!" As much as Cora was comforted by Rosamund's scheming offers, she felt no bitterness toward Sarah and would never want to hurt her.

"Do you want to leave?" the redhead asked more solemnly.

"No. I want to stay. Let's just stay and enjoy the movie."

"Right." Rosamund leaned back and continued to stare at them, plotting God knows what.

Judging from the man's limp, Cora guessed that this was the Bates couple, and she felt strangely disappointed in Sarah for giving up the fight and making nice with them. Sarah had told her the horrendous stories about John and Vera, and now she couldn't believe the sight of Sarah socializing with them, even if it was in her usual reserved way. What had she become? Cora was suddenly jealous of Anna. The woman was sitting inches away from Sarah and was chatting away animatedly with her husband, all attention fixed on him. If Cora were Anna, she would have passed the entire evening spending as much time with Sarah as she could. What was it she had read yesterday? She had liked the line from _Mrs. Dalloway _so much that she had circled it in her book. It was something like, "Nothing is so strange when one is in love as the complete indifference of other people."

Cora still loved her, even though she wasn't allowed to, even though they had decided together that they would end it. Cora had first proposed that they end the affair, but it was Sarah who had decided that they should lose contact. Cora understood. It would be too hard for them both to spend day after day in Sarah's dress shop, exchanging only pleasantries and the light touches that came along with dress alterations and measurements. This was for the best. That unborn baby was an entirely innocent little person, and he or she deserved the full attention of a mother and father - not a broken home.

Cora's stomach fluttered at the sight of Andrew putting his arm around his wife and feeding her bits of chocolate candy. She felt helpless and confused, like an intruder, even. This was Sarah's new life, and Cora had no part in it. She seemed to have moved on, to have changed into a new person. Cora could not bring herself to move on, no matter how hard she tried.

As the theater faded to black, Cora's thoughts drifted to the final day they had spent together. She closed her eyes, not caring that she would miss the opening credits. They had spent that hot August afternoon by the seaside, eating lunch in the tall grasses nearby, where they had made love and said tearful goodbyes. She brought herself back to those last moments together, lying on the towel with her head resting on Sarah's bare stomach.

She had kissed her bellybutton, whispering into it,

"You have the most beautiful mother, little one."

Cora could feel Sarah chortling in delight, "It probably can't hear you. At this point, it's just an ugly, shriveled up thing that looks like an alien."

"She doesn't mean that. I promise she's nice too," Cora had said to her stomach again.

Sarah had laughed even more as the sun began to set around them, casting her in a brilliant haze of golden and orange light. She had looked so very lovely lying there, her blue eyes glowing, her tanned skin and swimsuit covered in white dashes of sea salt, and her soft brown hair collecting granules of sand.

Cora missed her. She missed her voice, her laugh, the feeling of their bodies pressed together. She missed her smart-mouthed remarks and her discerning way of knowing just what to say to make Cora feel better in times like this. Cora had made her one promise and she had kept it; in three months, she hadn't taken one sip of alcohol. There were moments when she had looked on it longingly, even extremely weak moments when she'd stolen bottles of various things from the kitchens. Even then, she never actually drank it. It was getting harder and harder each day. She was floundering.

Perhaps she would drive to visit Edith tomorrow at university. Edith always had the ability to cheer up her mother, with the exciting little day trips she planned. Maybe they would go to a museum or to a college sock hop or to a play. Perhaps Cora would accompany Robert on his business trip to Scotland, for she so very enjoyed losing herself in the vastness of those rolling green hills. Perhaps she would sign up for that cooking class she had seen advertised in the paper. She had always wanted to learn, even if there was no need. Maybe one day she would learn to bake excellent cakes and pies, and then she would leave them on the front step of the Langs' house as a gift for the baby's Christening party, to which Cora knew she would not be invited.

* * *

"What do you want?"

"I've come to apply for a job."

The secretary let out a loud and sardonic laugh, leaning back in her chair and kicking her boots up onto the desk. "_You_? Work _here_?"

"What is the problem with that?" Rosamund replied indignantly, irked by the woman's grating voice and mocking eyes.

"For starters, your hair. You're a ginger. People can spot redheads like atomic bombs. You'll never be able to do it."

"Haven't you heard of wigs before?" Rosamund placed her hand on her hip and raised one eyebrow, staring her down like a cat would watch a mouse. Who did this crass, raven-haired tart think she was?

"Just sit down. Mr. Murphy will be out in a minute."

Rosamund watched her for a few minutes, noticing that she never actually picked up the phone and just let it ring while she read through magazines and filed her fingernails.

Finally, a short man with horn-rimmed glasses came to greet her at the door. "Rosamund Painswick?"

"That's me." She rose to greet him.

"Good to know you." He shook her hand enthusiastically, motioning for her to follow him into his office. He sat behind his desk and crossed his hands behind his head as she took the seat directly across from him.

"So why would a lady like yourself ever be interested in working for a detective agency?"

"I just am, and I think I would be rather good at it."

"Do you?" he leaned in with a roguish grin on his face.

"I do."

"Right then. It'll take at least half a year of training before you can do anything at all. Are you willing to put yourself through that?"

She leaned in as well, and looked him in the eye. "I'm more than willing."

"Good," he replied. "You can start right now."

"What? What about this interview you told me about? And…"

"Listen, Mrs. Painswick," he interrupted her. "We've done a thorough background check on you, don't you worry. "You'll be a great asset to our agency. We need someone like you who can move gracefully through the…upper circles…if you know what I mean."

She nodded, feeling slightly flattered. "Well then, you have the right woman."

"I already knew that before you came in. Detective, remember?" He winked at her and she could feel herself smirking back at him.

She followed him back out to the front room. He pointed to the desk and said, "For now, you're on desk duty. You'll be doing a combination of training and secretary work until you're ready for the field. Meet your new colleague, Vera. Vera, this is Rosamund. She'll be taking up your old position."

The woman behind the desk made a sarcastically extravagant bowing motion and rolled her eyes, looking back down at her magazine until Mr. Murphy said,

"Vera, don't you know what this means?"

She suddenly seemed to understand what he meant. She threw the magazine down and jumped up from her seat, visibly excited. "Thank God! It's about damn time!"

He chuckled and told her. "Don't be late tomorrow morning. You have a long day ahead."

She threw on her coat and headed for the door, swinging her hips like a screen siren. Before leaving, she stuck her head back in and snickered,

"Congratulations, ginger. You'll make a _fabulous _secretary!"

Rosamund heard the door slam behind her as Mr. Murphy returned to his office. She began to look through the address book and calendar, wondering what in the world she had just gotten herself into.


	7. Chapter 7

**Winter 1958/9**

* * *

Elsie clasped her hands together in joy. She felt like she could float away to heaven, watching all of this commotion around her in the name of kindness and charity. So many ladies from the town had come in today to help her transform this abandoned old house into the "Downton Center for Women." Spring was just barely over the horizon, and Elsie could almost feel its warmth seeping in.

Beryl Patmore, the best cook in town, had graciously offered to set up the kitchen and provide hot meals a few times every week. She ran past Elsie, shouting at Daisy Robinson to check the kettle for her. Daisy and her friend Ivy Stuart had volunteered to take the day off from school to help, although Elsie did wonder if they just wanted the excuse to skip school. Elsie could see Anna Bates out of the corner of her eye, painting the walls with the newly married Phyllis Molesley. To Elsie's right, she could see that the typist from the surgery down the road, Gwen Dawson, was sweeping and mopping the floors in the next room. To her left, she could see Jane Moorsum, Robert Crawley's secretary, carrying chairs with the help of Ethel Parks, that single mum who had just moved into town. Even that cheeky flirt from the pharmacy, Edna Braithwaite, had joined everyone today and was hammering away at the walls.

In the midst of the humdrum of busy women, it was difficult to miss Sarah, so pregnant that she appeared ready to pop, sitting there making the curtains at the sewing machine with a perpetual scowl on her face. Earlier that day she'd gotten into a tiff with Elsie when she'd been caught carrying large boxes into the house.

"Sarah, dearie, I don't want you carrying anything heavy. You're due any day now, and I don't want you hurting yourself."

"Frig off. I decide what I can and can't do," Sarah had grumbled irritably.

"I beg your pardon? Last time I checked, _I _was running this center, so _I _get to ban all heavily pregnant women from doing the lifting around here."

"_Heavily_?" Sarah had asked in a raised voice. "Who are you calling heavy? What, is this now the 'Downton Center for Calling Women Fat'? Who gave you permission to decide…"

"Sarah!" Elise had shouted sternly. She rarely yelled at anyone in this way, and it had clearly surprised the younger woman, who'd jumped to attention immediately. "Go sit down over there and assemble the sewing machine. That's your task, and if you give me any more sass today, with God as my witness, I'll kick your behind all the way out onto the street!" Elsie had firmly grabbed both of Sarah's shoulders and turned her toward the next room, practically pushing her forward.

Sarah had been in a foul mood for months. It was no secret to Elsie that she'd been dealing with the struggles of pregnancy simultaneously with the loss of her soul mate. Elsie had never seen the sense in this strange decision that Sarah had come to with Cora, and she knew it was wrong. How could it ever be right? With the way things were going now, Sarah would sink back into her depressed state straight after the baby was born, especially since she had taken temporary leave from her work, and Cora might even return to the drink. Elsie had already spent far too many days and nights at the mercy of Sarah's heightened acerbity and grumpiness, and even one or two holding her while she cried. No, this was definitely not right, but Elsie didn't have time to worry about that today. Today, there were light bulbs to screw in, creaky doors to fix, and blank signs to paint.

* * *

Cora had heard about the opening of Mrs. Carson's new center for women. She had not spoken to her since that frightfully embarrassing night at the Christmas party last year, aside from sending a brief and vague thank-you note. Cora had driven by the house several times, always trying to see what went on behind the currently curtain-less windows, but she could never get a clear image. She'd thought constantly about parking her car and ringing the doorbell, and she'd even once gotten as close as the door before she turned around and ran away again. This was no place for the likes of her. For goodness sakes, she was the wife of a millionaire, the perfect angel who graced the upper echelons of society on a regular basis. How could a silly little charitable organization like this ever help someone like her?

It was past midnight, and she was parked in the driveway in front of the darkened building, sitting on the hood of her car like a teenager and staring up at the sign. She drew her fountain pen from her coat pocket and wrote the phone number on her wrist. Mrs. Carson answered groggily, but invited her into her home straight away. Cora drove to the Carsons' house frantically, feeling like an absolute madwoman. She'd never been there before, and she hardly knew these people, but she just didn't know what else to do.

Mrs. Carson answered the door in her dressing gown, wearing slippers on her feet and rollers in her hair. Her husband followed in tow, in similar attire and a cup of tea in hand.

"Mrs. Crawley, do come in." Mrs. Carson seemed genuinely concerned, and not one bit upset that Cora had woken her at this hour. She shooed Mr. Carson out of the room, promising him that she'd return to bed later.

Cora fell into her arms, squeezing the older woman as tightly as she could, as if the entire world would stop spinning if she let go. If she'd had any energy left to cry, Cora would have. In this moment, she did not feel like crying. She was too terrified to cry.

"Help me," she whispered shakily. She didn't need to explain. She'd only taken one sip, but she was sure that Mrs. Carson could smell the hint of Bourbon on her breath.

"What am I ever going to do with the pair of you?" Elsie murmured with a sad sigh.

In the light of morning, things seemed all the more improbable, all the more scary. Cora couldn't let her fear stop her. She had to do this, and with the reassurance of Mrs. Carson and the strength of her love, she knew she could do this.

She adjusted her hat and smoothed her skirt, nervously hiding the bouquet of violets behind her back. Andrew was probably at work by now, but Cora couldn't be too sure. She felt sick at the sound of the ringing doorbell. Just as she turned around to run, she heard the door open and a whispery voice say, "Cora?"

Sarah looked so much different from the last time Cora had seen her. Gone was the carefully styled hair, the impeccable makeup, and the prim little dress. She looked as if she'd just rolled out of bed, with disheveled hair and her giant belly straining the fabric of the long flannel nightgown she wore. She rubbed her eyes sleepily, a most brilliant smile seeming to overtake her face against her own will. She was beautiful.

Cora clumsily shoved the flowers in Sarah's face, causing the other woman to step back with a surprised laugh. Cora really was terrible at this whole romance thing. She had a new appreciation for the many stuttering young men who'd taken her out when she was a girl.

"Sorry," she mumbled. "I brought these for you."

Sarah blinked in confusion and took them from her, an apprehensive frown on her face. "Why?"

"Because I miss you."

Sarah's mouth twisted once again into a little smile. "I've missed you too."

Cora could barely contain her happiness. "Oh, darling, have you? I…I was so worried that…Sarah, I can't do this. I can't pretend anymore. I can't pretend not to love you. I can't be apart from you like this."

Cora could see a little tear forming in the corner of Sarah's eye as she replied hoarsely, "I love you too, and I've missed you so bloody much, and…" Sarah's bottom lip began to quiver perilously, "if you don't come in here right now and kiss me, I swear I'm going to start bawling like an emotionally unstable pregnant woman."

Cora laughed in utter joy, running up to Sarah as quickly as she could before Sarah closed her front door behind them. Cora tried to wrap her arms around the younger woman to lean in and kiss her, but Sarah's enormous belly prevented them from making any significant contact at all. They giggled hysterically as Cora tried to wind her way around Sarah to reach her lips for a brief peck.

Suddenly, Sarah yelped in pain and Cora jumped back, at first wondering what she had done wrong.

"_Fucking hell_," Sarah breathed heavily, clenching her teeth and clutching at her stomach. "I think it wants out."

Cora was too shocked to laugh, but the memory of Sarah speaking in such an un-motherly way at that time would be enough to make her chuckle for years to follow.

Sarah managed to say through her quick, panicked breaths, "Go and get the bag beneath the kitchen sink. I have to go to the hospital. Now."

Cora stood there, dumbfounded. She couldn't believe that Sarah was actually going to have her baby right now.

"Go on, get it!" Sarah commanded, falling back against the wall while panting and cursing.

Cora drove her to the hospital, trying to remember the breathing routines she had learned when she'd had her own daughters, but that was so long ago. Sarah simply gripped Cora's shoulder, gasping and crying out colorful words that made Cora blush, some she hadn't even heard before.

Cora and Andrew sat together in the hospital waiting room, both worried sick about Sarah and praying that she and the baby would be healthy at the end of this. After long minutes of awkward silence, Andrew turned to her and said weakly,

"Don't ever leave her, please."

Cora couldn't believe what she was hearing and her jaw dropped wide open. She had no idea how to respond.

"I know about you and my wife," he continued.

"H-how?"

"I'm not stupid. I know her. I know she's always been…different. You say you're friends, but I've seen the way you look at each other, and I'm not so daft to think that she spends all her nights in that shop of hers. She's been with you."

Almost on instinct, Cora got up to leave.

"No!" he cried, pulling her down by the wrist. "I love her too, just the same way you do, and I want her to be happy. I want our baby to be happy. Please. Don't leave her again. I almost thought she was going to hurt herself, she was so miserable." He seemed desperate, but so very sure of himself.

"We can do this, the three of us. I don't know how, but we'll find a way. She needs you like I need her, like our baby will need us."

Cora nodded, squeaking out a tiny, "Okay," as she sat back down.

Before they could discuss it further, the doctor ran in, crying, "Congratulations, Mr. Lang! You have a new baby boy."

Andrew rose from his chair, trembling, with tears in his eyes. "Wh…really? And Sarah? Is she...?"

"She's just fine. Both baby and mother are just fine."

"Oh, thank God," Andrew said, gripping the top of the chair to keep his balance.

"You can go in and see her in a moment. She's asked for you."

Cora's heart swelled at the sight of Andrew's silly, relieved grin. She really didn't want to tear this family apart, and so she would wait until later to worry about it. In this moment, she felt herself nearly explode with joy at the good news.

"Mind you," the doctor added. "She's a stubborn one, your wife. Far from compliant in the birthing room…it's a wonder our entire staff isn't crying in the next room after the kinds of insults she's hurled at them!"

Cora supposed that they should have been offended by what the doctor said, but the three of them all burst into fits of affectionate laughter.

"That's my Sarah," Andrew said with a shaky smile.

Cora tapped him on the shoulder. "Go. Go see your wife and son."

He nodded, still in shock, and hurried off.

Cora slipped out of the hospital as quietly as she could. She would give them this day together, and then just maybe, she would someday have a chance at fitting harmoniously into the beautiful little family that the Langs had become.

* * *

_There's more to this story! Hope you're enjoying it so far._

_xoxo,_

_Morgana_


	8. Chapter 8

**Summer 1962**

* * *

The airplane started to speed forward on the runway, and Sarah gripped the armrests so tightly that Cora thought she might break them. Sarah clamped her eyes shut and started to recite the Rosary under her breath, throwing a host of whispered curse words into the mix.

Cora couldn't contain her laugh. "Goodness, darling, you've become Irish!"

"Shove it," Sarah managed to say through her erratic breaths.

Cora knew she didn't mean it. Sarah had also been this way on their flight to Dublin. Sarah had warned Cora that she and air travel wouldn't mix well, but Cora could have never predicted how bad it really was. Cora looked down at Nevin, fast asleep in her lap, and smiled to herself, trying not to show her lover how funny it all seemed to her. Sarah's toddler was perfectly relaxed on airplanes while his mother, the toughest woman Cora knew, was completely terrified and couldn't keep herself together at all. He really was an angelic baby, with his mother's blue eyes and his father's strawberry hair, named after Sarah's beloved brother who had died in the war. His Irish relatives had fussed over him so, leaving Cora and Sarah a surprising amount of free time to spend together. They, like nearly everyone else in the world, knew Cora to be just a friend, but they had been so welcoming. Cora was sure Andrew must have missed his wife and son while they had been on this trip, so she was glad to be headed home. Even Robert had wished Cora well for her flight before she'd left.

Cora leaned forward gently, making an effort not to wake the slumbering child, and gave Sarah the paper bag. She smoothed her free hand in circles over Sarah's back while the plane took off. After a bit of hyperventilating and a few panicked exclamations, they were off the ground and Sarah pressed her back tightly against her seat, eyes wide as she tried to slow her breathing and straighten her glasses. When the flight attendant came round, Sarah reached a shaking hand out to grab the woman's skirt and pull her lower.

"Brandy," she muttered hoarsely, "Please."

Cora took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "We're in the air now. Not long until we land in England, okay my dear?"

"Yeah, okay. You don't mind if I drink, do you?" Sarah replied faintly, closing her eyes and growing quiet again at the reassuring feel of Cora's thumb stroking her palm.

"I already told you, I don't mind at all. Please do, for all of our sakes."

After a few minutes of silence, Sarah said softly, "I know it may not seem like it right now, but this has been the loveliest holiday I've ever had. I mean that."

* * *

Elise hung up the phone, feeling her hands trembling.

"Charles?!" she called, her voice unnaturally high and wispy.

She could hear the thumping sound of him running downstairs. After her first glance at his expression, she could tell he was worried about her, so she spoke before he could say anything.

"That was a reporter from _The Times_. They want to write about the center!"

A look of relief washed over his face before he actually realized what it all meant. "Really? Elsie, that's wonderful!"

"I know!" she cried happily.

He enveloped her in one of his usual giant hugs, repeatedly telling her how proud he was and that she deserved it.

Things had been going so well with the center over the past years, but she hadn't expected it to receive _this _kind of attention. Apparently, the anonymous source for the article had been a young single mother who had sought temporary refuge at the center after going into debt when her son's father died. Elsie had no idea who it could have been, for the place was always so full by now. Whoever it was, Elsie was grateful to her.

"Wait," she said, pushing her husband away for a moment.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his brow furrowed in puzzlement.

"They said they want to come and interview us in our home. This means I'll have so much cleaning to do, and oh, what am I going to do about those broken panels above the fireplace, and that one rug outside the…"

Charles silenced her with a kiss. Much to her surprise, he swiftly picked her up, and she shrieked in delight.

"The damned house can wait. We're going upstairs, Mrs. Carson. And then I'm taking you to dinner to celebrate. It's time for Elsie to let someone take care of _her_."

She could feel her whole body rumbling with deep laughter and joy as he marched forward and carried her up the stairs.

* * *

Rosamund suddenly felt like she'd had the wind knocked out of her. Vera had thrown her against the concrete wall, covering her mouth and standing closely against her.

Once the men had passed by without noticing the two women around the corner of the building, Vera let go and hissed,

"What _was _that back there? Are you trying to get us fucking killed?"

"You're overreacting," the redhead responded angrily, pushing her companion backwards and fixing her coat. "I know Mr. Carlisle, and _I _believe that it would have done us better to just talk to him."

"_Just talk to him_," Vera repeated in a mockingly nasal voice. "And how do you think that would have gone? 'Good day, Sir. We were just wondering whether your friend there has committed any murders lately'…"

Rosamund tried to kick Vera in the shin, but the other woman jumped away too quickly.

"Don't you do that to me again," Rosamund said with the severest voice she could muster. "This job is difficult enough without an insufferable tart trying to suffocate me."

Vera let out a devilish laugh. "Uncomfortable with close proximity, are we? Afraid you'll turn into your sister-in-law?"

Rosamund stopped in the middle of the parking garage and turned on her heels. "How do you know about my sister-in-law?" she asked harshly.

The dark-haired woman rolled her eyes in exasperation. She took the other woman's arm in her own and started to skip. "You can be really dim sometimes, you know. What is it that we do for a living again?" She cackled at her own joke before adding, "Of course, you don't _have _to do it for a living, since you're a posh snob."

Rosamund finally succeeded in kicking her companion's leg. "Put on your sunglasses before we go back out," she said sternly, adjusting her blonde wig with one hand.

* * *

"I'll only be an hour or two," Sarah assured Andrew, before she handed over Nevin and kissed her husband's cheek.

"That's fine," he responded, tickling his son and grinning at the little giggles he'd caused.

She still felt guilty for being an unfaithful wife, but at least he knew the truth and even encouraged it. She supposed the feeling would remain until he found someone new as well, which Sarah had promised him would be okay with her. She was so thankful for her life these days, for her miracle of a son, for her kind and understanding husband, and for her loving Cora. She tugged at her blouse as she walked to the car, thinking to herself that in this sweltering heat, perhaps they would go to the pool later today. It was so rare for them to be able to use it anyway. She'd closed the dress shop for the afternoon. Everyone wanted to enjoy the sunshine today.

When she arrived, she found Elsie and Cora already waiting for her, pouring over their breakfast menus.

"Come, sit." Cora scooted over and reached for Sarah's hand under the table. As they sat there talking, Sarah began to move her hand farther upward, slipping it under her lover's skirt (which she had designed and sewed) and just barely teasing her enough to make her shift around uncomfortably. There would be time for more of that later, but Sarah was still just wicked enough to enjoy toying with the idea of it when they were in public places. Elsie never seemed to notice anyway.

"Where on earth is that sister-in-law of yours?" Elsie looked at her watch impatiently.

"Sorry. She's always late. We can order without her," Cora volunteered.

"You may certainly not!" Rosamund burst in through the door, checking her own reflection in a compact mirror as she walked quickly. She snapped it shut and sat herself down next to Elsie.

"How was Ireland?" She asked as if she wasn't actually interested in knowing the answer.

"Lovely," Sarah responded anyway.

An oddly euphoric expression came over Elsie's face, and she looked like she was about to explode with happiness. "I have some good news to tell you all."

"Oh, I love good news! What news is this?" Cora asked excitedly. "Do tell us!"

Before Elsie could continue, Rosamund shouted, "Wait!" She got up and ran to the door, dragging someone inside. As soon as Sarah recognized her, she almost burst out laughing. It made sense that those two would find one another somehow.

"This is Vera, my colleague."

"Supervisor," Vera corrected her sharply.

"_Colleague_," Rosamund said through gritted teeth.

"_Superv_-"

Before Vera could finish, Rosamund interrupted her. "She really isn't my supervisor. We're negotiating the details of that. For now, she's a friend and she's joining us for breakfast."

Sarah and Cora exchanged a brief nod to confirm that this was the Vera Bates they had talked about. Oh well, Sarah thought with a sigh, at least this morning wouldn't be a boring one!

* * *

_And now we've come to the end. I hope you all liked it! If anyone is interested in continuing the story into the 1960s (since it really can be continued a bit), please do_ _feel free to carry the torch for me! _

_Xoxo, _

_Morgana_


End file.
